Coming Clean
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Set in S7, a very pregnant prostitute visits House, claiming he's the father. Oops.
1. Chapter 1

**This one comes from a prompt from Princess Rainbow Puke that she stole, er, **_**borrowed**_** from Californication. Set in S7: What if a prostitute showed up at PPTH claiming to be pregnant with House's baby? The medicine in this first section is so bogus they're going to accept me into the American Medical Association, just so they can kick me out. Decided to split this into two chapters, because I'm a drama queen like that.**

House cleared his throat.

Cuddy lifted her eyes from the file she was reading.

"Hey you," she said, with a happy grin.

"You busy?" he asked, tentatively.

"Not too busy for you. What's up?"

House hesitated.

"I'll come back later," he said. "You look like you're in the middle of something."

She closed the file, giving him her full attention. She noticed that he had a tiny line of sweat over his upper lip.

"I just said I'm not that busy. What's going on House? You're making me nervous."

He sat down, folded his arms, then unfolded them.

"Things are going well between us, right?"

"Okay, now you're _really _making me nervous."

"I just mean, we've been together for, what, five months? And it's going great."

"Yes, House it's going great. Why do I think it's about to be going less great?"

"Umm," he scratched his head. "Remember when I asked you if I could treat my patient with prednisone and you said no?"

"You were going off a hunch. You hadn't made a compelling case for autoimmune," she said. "I was afraid the steroids would trash his immune system."

"Right…well . . .I did it anyway."

She sat up straight in her chair.

"You treated him with prednisone?"

"Yes."

"You told me he tested positive for Hep C and you treated with interferon!"

"I lied. I treated with steroids right away. My hunch was right."

"So you went behind my back and lied—again?"

He gulped.

"Yes."

Her neck turned red. For a moment, she was overcome with a kind of formless, diffuse anger.

Then something occurred to her.

"That patient went home last week. I had no reason to poke around his case file. So why are you telling me this now?"

"Cause I felt like crap about it," House admitted. "I promised I'd never lie to you and I did. This is my confession." He held out his wrists, as though for handcuffs. "Have mercy on me, judge."

"I'm putting you on probation," Cuddy said, quickly and firmly.

He did a doubletake.

"What?"

"Formal probation for six months. One more incident in that time and I'll be forced to terminate you."

"Cuddy…be reasonable. . .This is me."

Her eyes flashed.

"And I signed a love contract stating that I'd show you no favoritism. This is a fireable offense and we both know it."

"But I came clean! When I didn't have to!"

"That's why you're on probation and not fired. Now get out of my office, House. I really do have work to do."

He gave her a pathetic look, then sighed, got up huffily and limped out.

####

That night, House stood outside Cuddy's door for a long time before opening it a crack with the key she had only recently given him. He thrust a bouquet of flowers through the narrow opening.

"Is it safe?" he asked.

"Of course," she said.

"Whew!"

He stepped in. Handed her the flowers.

"Those flowers are pretty!" said Rachel, who was on the floor, putting the finishing touches on one of her crayon, glue, and glitter masterpieces.

"I got you one, too," he said, pulling another, tinier bouquet out of his jacket.

"Wow. He _does _feel guilty," Cuddy said, under her breath.

"I gotted flowers! I gotted flowers!" Rachel said, jumping up and down. "They smell so pretty!"

Cuddy sniffed her own bouquet.

"Yeah, they do," she said. "Let's put them in water, shall we?"

"Yes!" Rachel said, proudly marching into the kitchen and holding her flowers in front of her like they were the Olympic torch.

They put the flowers in water.

"I hope they know how to swim," Rachel giggled. It was the sort of adorable, "kids say the darnedest things" type line that House never found amusing.

In this case, he laughed. "That's a good one," he said, with false cheer. "I hope they know how to swim! Where do kids come up with this stuff?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes at him.

Then she turned to Rachel.

"What do you say we brush your teeth, put on your jammies and get you ready for bed?"

"I can do it," House volunteered, quickly.

"Stand down, House," Cuddy said, with a chuckle. "Heat up the leftover chicken. I'll be out in 20 minutes."

House did as he was told, made a plate of chicken and heated it up in the microwave. Then he found an open bottle of red wine and poured himself a glass. He was just starting to eat when Cuddy emerged from Rachel's room and sat down across from him.

He poured her a glass of wine.

"On a scale from 1 to Sleeping on the Couch, how pissed are you at me?" he asking, wincing in anticipation of her reply.

"I'm not pissed," she said.

"Wha—?"

"Okay, that's a lie. I'm pissed. But I'm also…proud of you for telling me the truth. You didn't have to."

"You put me on probation!"

"That was a boss thing. This is girlfriend thing. I wish like hell you hadn't lied to me. But if you had to lie, at least you knew it was wrong, felt guilty about it, and came clean. That's progress in my book. Just don't do it again!"

"I won't," he said, with a tiny smile. "I really am sorry, Cuddy."

"I know you are," she said, smiling back.

"Does this mean I have a shot of getting laid tonight?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Not a chance."  
######

But they did have sex that night—Cuddy had crawled on top of him, whispering, "Ugh, why are you so annoyingly irresistible to me?"—and things completely went back to normal.

That is, until a few weeks later, when a very pregnant woman appeared in House's office. She was dark-haired and pretty, in a hard sort of way, and wearing inappropriately high heels and an inappropriately low-cut skirt.

House looked at her, vaguely.

"Obstetrics is on the third floor," he said.

"I'm Lexie," she said, smiling knowingly. "You don't remember me, do you?

"Let me guess," House cracked, pointing to her swollen belly. "You're about to tell me that's mine."

"Actually," Lexie said. "Yes."

House stared at her.

"I've never seen you before in my life," he said.

"Men don't always look closely at our faces," she said.

His eyes narrowed.

"You're a hooker," he said.

"Yes, I'm a professional escort," she replied.

"I haven't used the services of a professional escort in years," he said.

"You sure about that?" she said.

Suddenly, House's mind flashed to eight months ago. He had seen Lucas pick Cuddy up from work—nothing special, just a boyfriend doing what boyfriends did—and it was, perhaps, the ordinariness of it all that got to him. Cuddy had waved to Lucas in a cheerful, "I'm happy to see you" way and kissed him, on the mouth, then immediately launched into some animated discussion of her day as they drove off, and House, watching the whole scene from the lobby, had felt this gnawing hole form in his gut that he needed to immediately fill.

"You can't be the one they sent over," House countered. "I specifically said, 'no brunettes.'"

"Honey, we have wigs. I'm blonde, I'm red-headed, I can dress like a Vulcan, if that's what you want me to be."

He looked at her again. She was right. He hadn't exactly been looking into her eyes that night. He wasn't looking for connection, just distraction. But come to think of it, she did look familiar.

"You're a prostitute," he said, disdainfully. "You have two jobs. Get men off and _don't get pregnant_."

"The condom broke, remember?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

House scratched his head.

"How many men do you sleep with a month. 60? 70? You know there's no shot I'm even going to entertain the idea that kid's mine before I see a DNA test."

"It's yours," she said. "Only one condom broke that month. And eight months later, here we are."

"So if the little bastard is mine—big IF—what do you want from me?"

"I want you to marry me and for us to move to a Westchester split-level with a picket fence." Then, upon seeing his dumbstruck face, she laughed. "What do you think I want? Child support! And money for my medical bills. And additional compensation for lost wages—pregnant escorts aren't exactly in high demand, except for a few super kinky types and I don't do that shit."

"And how terribly fucking convenient that a well-to-do doctor impregnated you," House said. "What good luck you have!"

"Hey, we're not a cheap service. All my clients are well off. But not all are quite so…well-endowed." She giggled.

House put his head in his hands.

"You know I'm not giving you a dime until I see that DNA test," he said.

"I need money now. To pay doctor's bills."

"Yeah. Good luck with that."

"I have a lawyer, you know."

"All hookers do."

"This lawyer says you need to pay me. Now."

"Have him or her issue me a subpoena. Until then, have a nice day."

She smiled, again.

"You can kick me out of your office, you can close your eyes and hope it all goes away, but you can't make this baby disappear. I'm having him. And he's yours. So _you_ have a nice day, Dr. House."

House watched her teeter away, then groaned.

"Fuck," he said.

######

"Don't jump!" Wilson said to House, who was standing on the hospital roof, looking out over the ledge.

House turned and scowled.

"What do you want, Wilson?"

"You missed our lunch date," Wilson said defensively. "I got worried."

"It wasn't a lunch 'date'. We're not dating. I said we'd have lunch together. Then something came up."

"Brooding on the roof?"

House ignored him.

"Okay, what's wrong?" Wilson probed.

"Nothing. It so happens I do all my best thinking on the roof."

"No, you do all your best thinking in my office after I've inadvertently triggered something. You do all your best moping on the roof."

Finally House sighed and looked at him.

"Have you ever had to tell somebody something, but you know that once you tell them, they're basically going to be through with you?"

"That was a very specific hypothetical."

House shrugged sadly.

Wilson squinted at him.

"What did you do that's going to piss off Cuddy?" he said, knowingly.

"Pissing her off would be welcome. This is going to be more like: Blind rage, followed by remembering why dating me was the worst idea of her life, followed by very quickly kicking me to the curb."

"You didn't. . ." Wilson got a horrified look on his face.

"Cheat on her? Fuck you," House said. He looked down. "Nothing like that. Well, actually something like that. But not what you think. I was visited by a former. . .um…employee of mine."

"Cameron?"

"Not Cameron. A hooker. She's knocked up and she claims it's mine."

"Oh no."

"Yeah. . .it was one night's indiscretion, eight months ago—that's three months BEFORE I started seeing Cuddy, for the record."

"But how can she be pregnant? Don't professionals use. . .protection?"

"The condom broke."

"Of course it did."

"I'm not bragging here. This is bad. I told her I'm not paying a dime until she confirms it's my kid. But the question now is. . ."

"Should you tell Cuddy."

"Not should. _How_. I promised her I wouldn't lie to her. She was very specific about that."

"She'll understand. It's before you were dating. It's not like she and Lucas were celibate."

"That's a little different, don't you think?"

"Cuddy knows you've used hookers before. There was that whole brush up with the massage therapist a few months ago."

"There's a big difference between knowing I've slept with hookers and having it thrust in her face in the form of the extremely pregnant Lexie."

"Agreed. But I think Cuddy will see this for it is: Something that happened before you were dating that has nothing to do with your relationship."

"Or it'll remind her that I'm a degenerate loser who has no business being around her kid."

Wilson put his hand on House's shoulder.

"She doesn't see you that way," he said.

"_Yet_," House said.

########

That night, House lay in bed, his head propped against the pillow, watching Cuddy get undressed.

He had a medical journal on his lap that he was technically supposed to be reading, but he couldn't focus on anything at the moment.

Even the sight of Cuddy kicking off her heels, unfurling her pantyhose, and slipping into her nightie—usually it's own form of foreplay for him—wasn't having its usual effect.

His mind was racing. He kept thinking that he was about to ruin his life—voluntarily. But he also knew that he had no choice but to tell her. He made a promise.

"We have to talk," he said, when she climbed into bed.

She side-eyed him.

"Uh oh. Why am I experiencing déjà vu?"

"There's something I need to tell you. You're not going to like it. But I have to tell you anyway," he said.

"Don't," she said, holding her hand up to stop him.

"_Don't_?"

"Look, I don't know what you did: Lobotomized someone, exploded their heart, set fire to their pancreas. And I don't want to know. You're only one month into your six month probation and I don't want to have to fire you. So just this once, don't tell me what you did. _And don't ever do it again_!"

He was about to protest that what he wanted to tell her had nothing to do with work and then he realized that she was giving him a reprieve—a veritable stay of execution. It was like a sign from God, if he believed in such things.

She was basically telling him that sometimes—on some very rare, very specific occasions—it was okay to lie to her. Or at least withhold the truth. He couldn't imagine a better time than right now.

He felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders.

"Okay," he said. "I won't tell you."

"Good."

"But it's not what you think it is. . ."

"House. Zip it. I'm going to pretend we never had this conversation."

And she turned off the light.

######

House got a letter from Lexie's lawyer, which he threw out. He also ignored four phone calls from her. His plan was to avoid her until the little diaper rash was born and then hope against hope it wasn't his.

And then one night Cuddy was home alone (House was working late) and there was a knock at the door.

She opened it to find an extremely pregnant woman standing on her steps, her arms folded angrily.

"Is Greg here?" the woman said, peering inside. She was noisily chewing gum.

"No. . ." Cuddy said, flabbergasted. "I'm his girlfriend, Lisa. Can I help you with something?"

Lexie looked Cuddy up and down. "Of course you're the girlfriend," she said with a snicker. "Do me a favor, will you?"

Cuddy didn't reply, just stared at this unexpected apparition, dumbfounded.

"Tell him Lexie was here and said it's time he owned up to his responsibilities and acted like a grown man, okay?"

When Cuddy didn't reply, Lexie said: "_Hello_? Are you listening?"

Cuddy shook herself from her daze.

"Yes," she said softly.

"And will you tell him that for me?"

"Uh…okay," Cuddy said. "I will."

"Have a nice night," Lexie said and waddled back down the path as Cuddy stared at her, in shock.

######


	2. Chapter 2

Like any man who'd received a stay of execution, House had been in an exceptionally good mood the past few days.

The desire to confess, he realized, had been a moment of weakness. Yes, he'd promised Cuddy he wouldn't lie. But the lie itself carried no meaning if she never found out about it. Lies were only dangerous when they were discovered. And Cuddy wasn't going to discover his.

Okay, if the little stinker was his, it was going to be a complication. But he'd man up and pay his share. As long as Cuddy never found out, it was no harm, no foul.

He was so pleased with this new line of reasoning, he was actually whistling when he got home from work that night. He let himself in with his new key .(She had put it on his key ring as a surprise one night when he slept. "Does this mean what I think it means?" he said, beyond happy. "That I want you to water my plants when I go out of town?" she teased, then laughed. "Yes, God help me, it would seem that we're taking the next step.") The house was dark now except for a light in the bedroom. He opened the fridge and yelled, "You want anything?" When Cuddy didn't answer, he shrugged, grabbed a beer and headed into the bedroom, thinking she may have fallen asleep with the light on.

Instead, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, her hands folded in her lap, as though waiting for him.

"Hey," he said, narrowing his eyes. "What's up?"

He took a swig of his beer and was about to unsnap his jeans and start getting undressed, but something in her expression made him hesitate.

"Your friend Lexie came to see me today," she said. "She left a message for you."

He went white. _Shit, shit, shit_. His mind raced: How could Lexie have even found the address? Had she followed him one night? Or maybe someone had just told her where he was staying—people tended to be very trusting of pregnant women.

"I can explain," he said, putting down the beer.

"Explain what?" Cuddy said, coldly. "I haven't even told you the message."

"Okay," House said, with dread. "What was the message?"

"Her exact words were, 'It's time he owned up to his responsibilities and acted like a grown man,'" Cuddy said, looking at him. "That was her message. What can she have _possibly _been talking about?"

"It's not mine, I swear," House said, sitting down next to her on the bed. She shot him such a deadly look, he scooted over a bit.

"And you know this because you . . . never slept with this woman?" she asked.

Lies were a bit like potato chips—you could never have just one. He inhaled a bit.

"Never," he said.

"Then why does she think the kid is yours?"

"She's crazy. She saw me in the hospital and became fixated on me, developed some sort of weird attachment."

"You're lying," she said.

"No, I'm not."

"House, look me in the eye."

He reluctantly looked at her.

"You swear on my life—on _Rachel's _life—that you never slept with this woman?"

He gulped. He didn't believe in swearing on someone's life—he wasn't superstitious that way—but somehow bringing Rachel into the equation was a game changer.

"It was before we were dating!" he confessed. "She's a ….professional. It was one time."

Now it Cuddy's time to turn white.

"Oh my God," she said.

"The odds of it being my kid are beyond remote," he said. "I told you, she's a hooker. There are probably 50 potential fathers wandering around the state of New Jersey."

"Then why does she think it's yours?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? You used protection didn't you?"

He looked down at his feet.

"Of course, but. . . it broke," he said quietly.

"What_?_"

"The condom broke."

Now she looked truly furious.

"So I might have some venereal disease, or possibly AIDS, from some skanky hooker that you had sex with?"

"No! I was tested!" he protested. "I would never have sex with you if I didn't know for sure I was clean."

She glared at him.

"Why should I believe you? Why should I believe anything coming out of your mouth right now?"

He gave her pathetic look.

"Cuddy, I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that."

"And lying about some pregnant ho you knocked up doesn't hurt me?"

"I was trying to protect you," he said.

"Bullshit," she said.

"I figured if it was my kid I'd tell you. If not, no harm no foul."

She stared at him, incredulously.

"No harm, no foul?" she spat out.

"Yeah," he said, meekly.

"What about honesty?" she said. "What about all the times I told you that honesty was the most important thing in a relationship? Did that mean anything to you?"

"You said that sometimes you didn't want to know," he mumbled, knowing he was treading on extremely thin ice.

"I said no such thing!"

"I tried to tell you the other night and you stopped me. You said you didn't want to know."

"I thought you were talking about a medical case! You _knew_ I thought you were talking about a medical case."

"The same rule applies," he said.

"No it doesn't! This affects me, my health, my life, my child."

"Your health is fine," he said. "I told you, I was tested."

"Well now I'm going to get tested, too," she said.

"That's not necessary," he said.

"I think it is."

"Cuddy, I swear!"

"Your swearing means next to nothing to me right now."

He looked at her.

"I would never lie about something that put you in danger," he said. "Not all lies are equal."

"Not true," she said. "Because the act of lying always means the same thing: That you don't respect me, trust me, or love me enough to tell me the truth."

"Of course I love you," he said, taking her hand. She yanked it away. He lowered his eyes. "And respect you. And trust you," he mumbled.

"You have a funny way of showing it."

He hesitated, then said: "What are you really mad about right here? Are you mad because I lied? Or are you mad because I slept with a skank when I was supposed to be pining away for you?"

She stared at him, disgusted.

"For a brilliant man, you have the emotional IQ of an amoeba, you know that?"

"Cuddy, there was no point in telling you until I knew for sure. I was protecting you!"

"You were protecting yourself," she said. "Like you always do."

There was a heavy silence.

"I'm sorry. I screwed up," he said.

"The one thing I told you was not to lie to me. The one thing. And you can't even handle that."

"I was embarrassed about my past. I didn't want to shove it in your face. Things have been so good between us. . ."

"Have they?"

"Of course," he said, feeling a bit desperate.

"I don't know anymore. I don't feel like the ground is solid under my feet. Who knows what else you've been lying to me about? Maybe you're seeing other women. Maybe you're back on Vicodin."

"Don't say that. . ."

"Don't you see, House? Once you lie to me, our relationship is a house of cards. It has no foundation."

"I see your point now," he said. "I never thought of it like that. You're right. Of course, you're always right."

"Go home, House," she said.

"But I. . .I don't want to go home," he said, panicking.

"Well, I don't want you here," she said.

"For how long?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Cuddy, you always want to talk stuff over. Let's talk about this more. We can stay up all night…."

"I'm done talking. Go home, House."

He stood from the bed, shakily.

"Okay," he said.

When he got to the bedroom door, she called after him.

He stopped, hopeful.

"What are you going to do?" she said.

"Do?"

"If the kid is yours? What are you going to do?"

"Pay child support for the rest of my life, I guess," he said. "What else can I do?"

"And that's it? You have no interest in being in this child's life?"

"There's only one child's life I want to be in," he said. "And that's Rachel's."

He thought he was saying the right thing—that he might actually warm her heart with this declaration.

But if anything, she looked more disgusted.

"I can't look at you," she said. "Leave."

So he left.

Wisely, he didn't go home.

He went straight to Wilson's.

"Cuddy just broke up with me," he said, when Wilson answered the door.

"Then you better come in," Wilson said.

######

They ignored each other at work and then, three days later, Cuddy's assistant Anita came into her office.

"There's a man out here to see you," she said.

"A man?"

"This really handsome guy," Anita whispered. "Says his name is Jay Cohen. You used to know him?"

Cuddy smiled, surprised: Jay Cohen had been her first big love after med school. They had dated for three years until he got a job in St. Louis and expected Cuddy to derail her own career path to join him. She refused. They tried the long distance relationship for a while—unsuccessfully. A few years ago, they became Facebook friends but he didn't post very often. Last she'd heard of him, he was the director of an ad agency in Chicago and had a wife and two kids.

"Send him in," she said.

Anita was right—he did look good. He's always been a handsome guy: Wavy dark brown hair, sculpted chin, fit. (He'd played soccer all throughout high school and college). He looked older now—the brown hair was flecked with gray, there were laugh lines around his eyes—but he still cut a striking figure.

"Jay, what a surprise!" she said, hugging him.

"Wow," he said. "How is possible that you look better now than you did 15 years ago?"

"You flatter me," she said, laughing a bit.

"No, I'm underselling it," he said, inspecting her. "You're a knockout."

She blushed a bit.

"Sorry for asking, but what are you doing here?"

"You told me on Facebook that if I was ever in town I should stop by the hospital and say hi. . . Oh shit. That was just you being polite, wasn't it? I can never tell with that sort of thing. I can go if you want."

She chuckled.

"No, I meant, what are you doing in New Jersey?"

"Ah, advertising conference," he said. "They're giving me this little award: Ad Exec of the Year."

"Wow. Congratulations!" she said.

"Yeah…awards mean nothing to me. It's the work that matters. . ." Then he raised his eyebrows. "Did that sound even _slightly_ sincere?"

"Still a wiseass I see," she said.

"I'm trying to impress you. How am I doing?"

"Very very impressed," she said, with mock seriousness. Then she added quickly: "How's Beth?"—his wife.

"Oh, I thought you knew? We split up last year," he said.

"I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too. It's been hard on the kids. And on me…but I'm doing a lot better. I'm actually dipping my toe oh-so-tentatively back into the dating pool."

"Good luck," she said. "There are sharks in those waters."

"Don't I know it." Then he chuckled. "What about you? Surely some lucky bastard has snatched you up by now. Although I probably should mention that I've been staring hopefully at your empty ring finger this entire time."

"I'm seeing somebody," she said, quickly.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed. Is it serious?"

"Yes," she said, cautiously.

"I sense a but. . .Or maybe that's just wishful thinking?"

"No but," she said. "Well, we're in a bit of a fight right now. But yeah, I love him."

"But that won't stop you from having drinks with me at the hotel tonight, will it? I'm only in town for two more nights."

She looked down at the floor.

"I …probably shouldn't."

"Why not? It's just drinks. Two old friends catching up. No harm, no foul."

Hearing Jay use the exact same expression House had used to justify his horrifying lie was something of a reality check. Why couldn't she have drinks with an old flame? It's not like House didn't do things behind her back.

She bit her lip.

"What hotel are you staying at?" she asked.

He broke into a huge grin.

"The Trenton Hilton. The bar is called The Continental—because what could be more continental than a chain hotel in Trenton?"

She laughed. She had forgotten how charming he could be.

"8 o clock?

"It's a date," she said.

######

House had arranged for Lexie to have the kid at Princeton Plainsboro. That way he could do the postnatal DNA test himself, no middle man.

She went into labor two weeks early—exactly five days after Cuddy had kicked House out. He lurked around the delivery room until he got the word the kid had arrived.

"Excuse me, coming through, important doctoring stuff," he said, entering the room rudely, swabs in tow.

Lexie was lying, propped up in bed, looking tired, holding the tiny squirming crying baby in her arms.

And House laughed out loud.

"I guess I won't be needing these," he said, putting the swabs back in his pocket.

"It could still be yours," she said, unconvincingly.

But House was still laughing. Because the child was beautiful, healthy, bouncing—and clearly half black.

"I could spend a week in the Bahamas, slathered in tanning oil and I still wouldn't get that dark," he said. "And even if I did, tans aren't hereditary."

"I'm a quarter Puerto Rican, he could get his coloring from my mother's side of the family."

"You're about as Puerto Rican as I am. He gets his coloring from

his father, the _black man_."

Lexie looked at the baby, in dismay.

"Stranger things have happened…" she said.

"Actually, no. Stranger things have never happened."

"But. . ."

"Am I actually going to have to get a saliva sample from this child and go through the process of testing its DNA?" House asked.

Lexie sighed.

"No," she said.

"Thank you. Cute kid by the way," he said, leaving the room. "Mazel tov."

The baby's official weight was 7 pounds, 5 ounces, but House felt like he was 100 pounds lighter.

######

He stood outside Cuddy's door for a few minutes, considering using his key, then thought better of it. They hadn't spoken in four days, but he was sure his news was going to put him back in her good graces.

He knocked.

Cuddy answered the door looking surprised.

"For you," he said, shoving a bouquet of roses in her hands. Then he stepped inside.

She took the flowers, but not eagerly.

"What's this about?"

House glanced at Rachel who was sitting on the floor playing Barbie Demolition Derby.

"Billy Jean's not my lover," House sang. "She's just a girl, thinks that I am the one! _But the kid is not my son_!"

"Howse!" Rachel said, popping up from the floor. "You're singing!"

"I am. I'm singing a very special song with very special lyrics.. . ." He looked at Cuddy out of the corner of his eye. "_But the kid is not my son_!" he sang again, expecting a reaction. There was none.

"I miss you!" Rachel said to House.

"I miss you too, shorty," House said. "So much so that I got you a mini bouquet, too!"

He pulled a second, much smaller bouquet of roses out of his coat. (The mother/daughter flower bit seemed to have worked last time.)

"Careful with the thorns, kid. They're thorny," he said, handing it her.

"They're soooo pretty," Rachel said, grabbing them. Then, immediately, "Owww!"

She had pricked her finger on one of the thorns.

"Are you out of your mind?" Cuddy said, glaring at him. "Giving thorny roses to a 3 year old?"

"I told her not to touch the thorns!" House protested.

Cuddy bent toward Rachel, who was licking her finger—the tiniest little pool of blood had formed at the tip—and trying not to cry.

"Owww!" she said again.

Cuddy snatched the flowers from her and _then_ Rachel began crying.

"My fwowers!" she wailed.

"Sweetie, I'm going to remove the thorns and give them right back to you."

"I'll do it," House volunteered, quickly.

Cuddy handed them to him, roughly.

"I'm going to disinfect her finger," she said.

He was going to tell her that the wound was so tiny and insignificant it didn't warrant disinfectant, but thought better of it.

House limped into the kitchen, scraped the thorns off the roses, and walked into the bathroom, where Rachel was sitting on the toilet bowl, her legs dangling in front of her, as Cuddy put a Hello Kitty bandage on her finger.

When she was done, Rachel waved her finger in the air to show House.

"Ta da!" House said. "Good as new! And here are your very special dethorned roses."

And he handed her back the flowers.

"Thorns are thorny!" Rachel said.

He smiled at her.

"Yeah kid," he said. "And only idiot grownups like me give them to little girls like you."

"I'm going to put her to bed," Cuddy said. "I'll talk to you when I'm done."

"G'night short stuff," House said.

"Gnight Howse! Thanks for the flowers. Even though they hurt, I still love them."

House wandered back into the living room, then made his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge. There was left over Chinese food and he was hungry, but he wasn't sure that was a good idea. There was also beer—his beer—but suddenly everything in the house seemed off limits.

He sighed, went back to the living room and sat stiffly on the couch , waiting for her.

A few minutes later, she came out.

"Why are you here House?" she said.

He frowned.

"I'm not sure if you're familiar with the oeuvre of the King of Pop, but the kid is not my son. Lexie had her baby and, in fact, it was more likely The Gloved One's kid than mine. If he were still alive, that is. And, uh, still black."

"What are you going on about?"

"The kid wasn't mine. He was clearly half black. We didn't even need to do a DNA test."

"Congratulations."

"So…can I come home now?"

"Why?"

"Because we can put this whole thing behind us. It's over now. A temporary setback. A blip."

"A _blip?_"

"You know what I mean."

She shook her head.

"You still think this is about the fact that you may have gotten a prostitute pregnant."

"Isn't it?"

"No! It's about you lying to me. Why can't you get that through your thick skull?"

"Okay, it's about the lie. I get that. But I can't undo the lie. All we can do is move forward from here."

"Or not," she said.

"Or _not_?"

Cuddy closed her eyes.

"House, I'm not ready yet. And the fact that you thought this piece of news was going to make everything okay suggests that you're not ready either."

"Cuddy, don't you think you're overreacting a little?"

"No! I happen to think my reaction is restrained."

"Isn't it possible that this all has something to do with your failed attempts at getting pregnant? That this is triggering some latent anger over the fact that. . ."

But he stopped talking because Cuddy was staring at him like she wanted to murder him in a particularly painful and gruesome way.

"I'm sorry," he gulped quickly. "That was an unfair and stupid thing to say."

"House get out before I say something I regret. It's too late for you obviously."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Really, Cuddy. I'm sorry."

But she didn't look at him or say anything, so he slid her key off his key ring, put in on an end table, and left.

######

In the morning, Rachel came careening out of her bedroom in her footie pajamas, clutching one of her roses (it was so smooshed and crumbled, it looked like she had slept with it—which she probably had). Cuddy expected her to come crashing in for her usual morning hug, but instead, she skidded to a halt and looked around the room, in dismay.

"Where's Howse?" she said.

Oh shit.

"He's not here, honey."

"Why not? He was here when I went to bed."

"I know, Rach. But he left."

"Why doesn't he sleep over anymore and have breakfast with us and play games with me?"

"He's been very busy," Cuddy said. Then felt bad for laying it all on House. "Mama's been busy, too. Sometimes grownups are too busy for sleepovers."

"So you're too busy for House?"

"Something like that."

"Will you ever get too busy for me?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Then why are you too busy for House?"

"It's more complicated than that. It's grownup stuff."

"What kind of grownup stuff?"

"The kind you need to be a grownup to understand," Cuddy said.

Rachel pouted her lower lip.

"Well I'm very sad."

"I know you are, Rach."

"Because I miss Howse a lot and I want him to come home now!" she said, she was _this _close to a full-on toddler meltdown.

"He will sweetie. Soon."

She could imagine House sitting here, giving her that knowing look of his: "Way to be completely honest, Cuddy," he would say. _Screw you_, she thought in response to imaginary smug House. _I'm a mother._ _We get to lie._

######

Two nights later, she got a phone call from Wilson.

"Cuddy have mercy on me," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm living with the saddest human being alive. All he does is mope around my apartment wearing a hoodie and looking depressed. It's like living with the Grim Limper."

"He's _living _with you?"

"I thought you knew."

"No, I assumed he went back to his apartment."

"No. He came here. He never said it explicitly, but I think he was afraid he might get into some bad stuff if he went back there."

"You mean Vicodin?"

"Yeah. I mean Vicodin."

"So where is he now?"

"On my balcony. Staring gloomily. Either that, or thinking about jumping."

"Don't joke like that."  
"Who's joking? I know you guys broke up. But would you possible consider _not_ being broken up?"

"Who said we broke up?"

"He did!"

"We didn't break up. We're just…on a break."

"Then can you please tell him that? Cause I can't live with this gloom. He's making me depressed. He's making my _cat _depressed."

Cuddy gave a sad laugh.

"Things aren't much better around here. Rachel isn't talking to me. Well, except for when she forgets she's not talking to me and start blabbing away about her new best friend or this amazing mint chocolate chip ice cream I need to buy her. But she's mad at me. She misses House and she blames me."

"Then come get him."

Cuddy sighed.

"Okay," she said. "I guess the banishment has lasted long enough. I'll be right over."

"Bless you," Wilson said. "And no need to rush. Experience tells me that House can brood like this for hours at a time."

Indeed, when she got to Wilson's house, House was still standing on his balcony, wearing a navy blue hoodie, looking out into the night sky, motionless.

"He's all yours," Wilson said.

Cuddy walked out to the balcony.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey!" he said, shocked.

"Nice hoodie," she said.

"It's Wilson's." He quickly yanked off the hood. His hair was matted to his scalp. Reflexively, she ruffled it. His eyes widened.

"Wilson says you think we broke up," she said.

"Didn't we?" he said. "You kicked me out. You've barely talked to me in a week."

"Not true! I talked to you long enough to yell at you for bringing Rachel roses and for making insensitive remarks about my miscarriage," she offered, with a tiny smile.

"I'm so sorry about that. That was extremely shitty of me."

"Yeah, it kind of was."

"Desperation brings out my stupidity."

"Yeah. . .But the thing is, you were right House. . ."

He did a doubletake.

"I was?"

"Not about the miscarriage thing. Or the part where you lied to me. You were horribly horribly wrong about both those things. But what you said the other night, that all we can do is move forward from here. The bottom line is, either I want to try to work things out with you or I don't."

"And?"  
"I do."

He exhaled the tiniest bit.

"Thank God."

"The new chapter of our relationship where we are 100 percent honest with each other can't begin until we're, well, back _in_ a relationship."

"Makes perfect sense."

He smiled at her.

"I've missed you," he said, leaning in to kiss her.

She held out hand to stop him.

"There is . . .something I need to tell you."

He narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

"A few days ago I had drinks with an ex boyfriend."

"Lucas?" he said, panicking a bit.

"Not Lucas. This guy Jay. We dated after I got out of med school. He was in town for an advertising conference—they were giving him some sort of award. Anyway, we met and had drinks."

"Where?"

"At the Trenton Hilton."

"You met a hotel?"

"The bar, not his room or anything."

"No guys asks a woman to meet him at a hotel bar unless he hopes to get lucky."

"He didn't get lucky."

"But something did happen," House said, reading her.

"He tried to kiss me," Cuddy admitted.

"Tried how?"

"What do you mean tried how? He tried to kiss me. I didn't let him."

"Was there tongue?" House said, getting worked up.

"No. My mouth is closed for all tongues not belonging to Gregory House," Cuddy said.

"Did he touch you? Did he grab your ass?"

"There was no touching of any kind. Look, he tried to kiss me. I shot him down. It was slightly embarrassing for both of us. And we said good night. End of story. Except. . . I should have told you sooner."

"Yes," House said, folding his arms. "You should have."

"But you see? This is sort of a serendipitous object lesson for you. I mean, not intentionally, it just worked out that way. What are you more upset about: The fact that I went to have drinks with Jay? Or the fact that I didn't tell you?"

"The fact that some piece of shit tried to shove his tongue down your throat!" he said.

Despite herself, Cuddy laughed. Then she laughed a little harder.

"What's so funny?" House said, folding his arms, still agitated.

"You and I are so, so different," she said.

"Is that so bad?"

"No, it's not so bad. It's just important to remember once in a while. We process reality differently. For you, it's all about actions and results. For me, it's all about the meaning _behind_ the action. Like what it means when you lie to me."

House swallowed.

"When I lie to you, it's because I'm afraid I'm going to lose you. That's all."

"Then let me give you a simple formula: In my world, the cover-up is always worse than the crime. Always."

"Yeah, I kinda picked up on that."

She took his hand.

"We can get through almost anything—together. If you're just honest with me."

"I know," he said. "I'll try."

"Don't just try," she said. "_Do_."

He smiled.

"Yes ma'am."

He leaned down and gave her a kiss and she kissed back and, as if to prove a point, put her tongue in his mouth, and pressed against him in a way that said: _I belong with you_.

"Okay, let's go home," she said, when they parted. "I've got a toddler who's dying to see you again."

"That makes two of us."

She took his hand and they walked through Wilson's living room, right past Wilson, who was sitting on the couch.

"Come again," Wilson said, with an ironic wave, when they got to the door, because they were kissing and cuddling and totally ignoring him. "Don't be strangers."

"Oh hey," Cuddy said to House, once they had exited the building. "You dropped this."

And she gave him back his key.

THE END


End file.
